MassLive teamed up with Cambridge-based nonprofit Essential Partners to host Guns: An American Conversation, bringing together 15 strangers to share differing viewpoints on gun-related issues as part of an effort to connect and learn.

----------------------------

Britteney Kozak Miles had to pause for a moment on Saturday, choking back tears.

It had just occurred to her that six years ago to the day was when she was shot in the face by an Agawam police officer, while holding her 1-year-old daughter and being pregnant with another daughter, her third child.

Margarita Maldonado, too, had tears fill her eyes on Saturday, as she told a group of strangers about her son, Sam. Just about three years ago, 18-year-old Sam was gunned down in Worcester. He was her oldest child, a strong-willed young man and a talented athlete on the football field and baseball diamond.

These two women know the joy of motherhood. They also know the pain that can come at the hands of a gun.

And yet, guns are what brought Margarita and Britteney together Saturday. They were two of 15 people who gathered in Central Massachusetts to discuss one of the most divisive topics of our time.

Guns: An American Conversation is a partnership between Advance Local and Essential Partners. It started with a group who met in Washington, D.C., to discuss the topic on a national level. The conversation continued between MassLive and Essential Partners on May 5, as the group of 15 spent a day exchanging viewpoints from each side of the debate, sharing vulnerable moments while also offering a sense of understanding,

Margarita and Britteney have different stories. But they both want the same thing: To not be remembered or defined by the tragedies they endured, but for the smiles and strength they carry every day moving forward.

'Just let me face my consequences.'

Margarita Maldonado shows off a cell phone photo of Sam and his younger brother, Brian.

'Just let me face my consequences.'

As soon as Margarita starts talking about Sam, a bright grin stretches across her face and her eyes glow with happiness. She can tell story after story about him, pausing to laugh and remember, before jumping right into the next tale.

There was the time Sam's brother Brian, who was five years his junior, was graduating from the eighth grade. Sam told his mother that she couldn't be cheap and get graduation party supplies from the Dollar Tree, Margarita, 39, recalled with a laugh.

Sam was a typical jock, according to Margarita. He had a head of goofy hair that would poke out of the side of a baseball hat. And while he was talented at baseball, he preferred football for its fast pace and the chance to learn from his coaches. At North High School, Sam was one of the best on the field.

There was the time Sam stole from the Target on Lincoln Street. Sam left the store with deodorant, T-shirts and socks, thinking it would be cool because other kids were doing it. He was the only one to get caught and police gave him a choice.

"He was like, mom, look I had two options: To call you or to face my consequences. Just let me face my consequences," Margarita recalled. "And I said, huh, I raised you right."

Sam paid the $40 to bail himself out of jail. And then he went to court and finished the 20 hours of community service a judge ordered.

Margarita told him he did it. He faced his consequences.

'My kids are my reason for living, literally.'

Britteney, next to Maribeth White, participates in a group discussion during the Guns: An American Conversation event.

'My kids are my reason for living, literally.'

Britteney frequently looks at her phone during conversation and raves about her four children.

At ages 9, 7, 5 and 2, they check in with her through text message every once in a while, as their babysitter cares for them.

Britteney, 27, says she's thankful that she can keep an eye on them from afar. She shows off a photo of the smiling bunch, her pride palpable.

"My kids are my reason for living, literally," she said. "And they've been through a lot. They really have, and they take it and they make the best of it."

When a tornado plowed through Greater Springfield in 2011, she lost her apartment. Then it was Britteney and her two oldest children.

They spent some time in a homeless shelter before getting an apartment in Agawam. Then, on May 5, 2012, she was accidentally shot.

"Throughout all of it, my kids have turned it around. They are very safe, responsible, reliable, self-sufficient children," she said. "They're aware of all the dangers in the world but they still live a happy life. They still see the good things, they see the good parts of the world and the good people all while being very aware of the bad."

'Losing Sam changed me because I think I didn't know how strong I was until he was no longer here.'

Margarita holds up a baby photo of Sam inside her Worcester home.

'Losing Sam changed me because I think I didn't know how strong I was until he was no longer here.'

Doctors pulled Margarita into a room on May 13, 2015, the day after Sam was shot.

"They say, 'Your son is going to succumb to his injuries and you have to say goodbye,'" she recalled. "You don't know how long you have and you don't know what you're going to say."

Margarita couldn't do it. She stood in the corner of the room, then retreated to the hallway, tears streaming from her eyes.

But Sam's brother Brian, 13 at the time, went right in. He grabbed Sam's hand and said something to him. He didn't shed a tear.

"So, when I saw Brian do that, I said, I can do this. I have to do this. I have to say goodbye to him," Margarita recalled.

She looked over her son's body. She had to see the spot where the bullet ripped through his abdomen.

"Oh, I saw. I wanted to," Margarita said. She knew that one day Sam's killers would see their day in court. "I wanted to because when I spoke to them, I wanted them to know what I saw and what they left me with."

Margarita touched Sam's feet and hands. She ran her fingers through his goofy hair and touched his face.

"Losing Sam changed me because I think I didn't know how strong I was until he was no longer here," she said, her voice trembling with emotion. "I always knew I could call my sister if something was wrong or call him for anything. And then when he was no longer here, that day in the hospital changed me completely."

'There isn't a single reason in the world that you should have survived this.'

After the bullet tore into Britteney's face, she went into mom mode.

She started picking up diapers and bottles, trying to put a bag together, she recalled. If she had to go to the hospital, someone was going to have to take care of her children in the meantime.

It took longer than it should have for her to realize she had really been shot, Britteney said.

And once that settled in, she told police she was pregnant.

"But I realized when I got shot that I had nobody for my kids. My safety became a real issue," Britteney said. "Not just regular safety, not with guns, I mean like driving, highways. I still drive pretty much the same roads because I know if there was to be an explosion or a car crash, I know where to go. I spend so much time making sure my environment is safe."

Britteney needed multiple surgeries after she was shot.

"The doctor said to me, literally, when I was coherent enough to speak, there isn't a single reason in the world that you should have survived this," she recalled.

Britteney received a total of $230,000 in a settlement, $150,000 of which was for her. The settlement included $20,000 from the town of Agawam, which she agreed to place into two investment accounts for her two affected children. Britteney also filed a $1.5 million lawsuit in federal court, which was later dismissed.